


Norn's Whimsy

by remarkable1



Category: Avengers (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor: Tales of Asgard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Sexual Situations, Confusion, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Dreamscapes, Dreamsharing, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Ghost Sex, Illusions, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remarkable1/pseuds/remarkable1
Summary: The Norns, or Fates, get bored weaving the same old patterns, day in, day out. An eternity lends the crones a wealth of imaginative designs for manipulating the meeting mates of the soul. Not all of the ideas are nice.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Thor (Marvel), Hermione Granger/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 94
Collections: Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest





	Norn's Whimsy

This was written for Hermione's Nook Rarepair Soulmate Fest on Facebook. My rarepair was Thor Odinson and Hermione Granger. My prompt was -Bubbles gives you a blurry glimpse into your soulmate’s world (visions of possessions, friends, family, laughter, crying, etc) 

==

High above, or below, however you wish to imagine it so, the Norns cackled and danced with glee. Such sporting fun to mess with the Gods every now and again. Weaving the convergence of soul mates didn't need to be a boring task. Indeed, the crones had come up with some very interesting, naughty scenarios. This thread of the loom was the utmost compelling pattern to date. 

Oh yes. The Norns were quite proud of their handiwork. 

==

What a shitty day. London was dreary this time of year, and the rain was normal, but good gravy, this was beyond madness. Twenty-three days of crap. The rain was pouring down in a steady drizzle, a non-stop, flooding mess that covered roadways. Little drips formed in the ceiling of poorly patched homes, and generally was giving the two-finger salute to all who must venture into it.

It's not that Hermione couldn't go to the library or bookstore and pick out new books, or continue with her research. Hell, she could even skive off her work-at-home business to do some charity for one of the many she supported. Oh no. Her spirit felt depleted of meaning. Empty. No fulfillment existed within her heart, mind or soul.

Each raindrop on the windowsill threatened its mocking cadence into her skull. _’Sing-le, sing-le.’_

"Shut up," she bitched at it dully, unable to get the word out of her head. It was like an earworm, a song that wouldn't quit. "I've never needed anyone before, why the hell do I feel like I need someone in my life now?" she complained, thumping her forehead on the plain wooden table before her.

"Great. Now I'm talking to myself. Mum always told me to keep more company than cats. Sorry Crooks," she added as an afterthought. Her fluffy half-kneazle only twitched his ancient tail, snoozing in front of the fireplace, dreaming of chasing something slow for his dinner.

"The life of a cat. At least you've got it good," she sighed, feeling a craving for ice cream. When she pulled open her icebox, nothing appealed to her. Frustrated, she stomped and tried to force herself to settle into the sofa with one of her favorite books. Five minutes later, she committed blasphemy, throwing it face-down onto the carpet, pages bending in agony.

Ignoring the poor book, she carried herself to the front door, put on her rain gear, and opened her entryway to the elements. On cue, an odd gust burst through the open space, spitting water, leaves, and the scent of diesel oil right into her face.

With a splutter, that idea flew the coop. Discarding her latest whim, she declared defeat. Up the stairs she raced to her clawfoot bathtub, a few stray, pity-poor-me tears wandering down her cheeks as she watched it fill.

A bath bomb, some bubbles, and herbs later, she reclined naked and up to her neck in luxurious heaven. Why hadn't she thought of this earlier? Oh, that's right, she was too busy bemoaning the lack of male companionship, even though she had shit taste in men, so far.

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled the heady aroma of her bath. Ah. That was the ticket. Leaning her head back against a cushion, the witch brought her fingers up to her breasts, letting the detested rain lull her imagination. In her mind's eye, a suitor was knocking on her door, climbing her stairs, and finding her in the tub.

Who was he? What did he look like? She allowed her eyes to open a slit and stare into the bath, bubbles forming and popping in a constant litany of profusion. When she had stared long enough, Hermione convinced herself prince charming was smiling at her a million times from among each and every winking, iridescent bubble.

Her chest hitched, breath caught when her fingers pulled nipples taut, pressing them into round beads, tugging them, the fingers no longer hers, but that of a very well-built, blond man. Malfoy? _Ew!_ Merlin, no.

Then her mind shifted to an image she'd seen on the telly while shopping – one of the superheroes from the Battle of New York. Thor was his name? The God from Asgard that had appeared in New Mexico. Yes. Mm hm. He would do nicely as her stand-in, imaginary beau.

Chiseled, handsome and warm, his muscles rippled on the backdrop of her fantasy. Thor's thousand-year-old talented fingers took over, drifting from her chest down her belly, circling her navel with ease. Oh yes, that was quite nice.

Settling deeper in, she closed her eyes once more but found she had better luck focusing on the reflection in her bubble bath, so decided on slitting her eyes, de-focusing the best she was able while pleasuring herself. 

It was a tricky thing she was attempting. Rare was the day she was able to realize the correct frame of mind for this task, but today luck was with her.

In a trance, her skin came alive, rough palms gracing her smooth hips, that panty-wetting voice whispering naughty epithets in her ear.

"I've never had the privilege of pleasuring such a succulent mortal," her dream mind supplied. While it was amusing that was what it came up with, she didn't fight it, letting her silly mind go where it wanted, as long as it didn't stop.

"God, I'm so horny," she whispered to Dream God.

"You do me much honor, allowing me access to your treasure. Feel me, and allow me to worship you, Hermione Granger."

"Shut up and fuck me," she retorted and could have sworn a heavy chuckle sounded next to her ear. Determined to concentrate, she didn't turn her head, knowing the fantasy would poof into non-existence, and she'd be left hanging.

"It would be my pleasure."

The water rose, reaching the edge of the tub, brimming dangerously close to spilling over. The almost-weight of a phantom body entering the bath and settling on top of her stretched-out form had her sighing with rapture.

"God, you feel so good. Touch me."

"I am touching you."

"Touch me more. I need this."

Skilled fingers situated themselves between her legs, causing her to gasp at the subtle but unmistakeable tweak of her clitoris.

"Fuck, yes, right there."

For many long moments, the hand twiddled her, sinking blissfully into her soaked cunt. It took very little for three fingers of the God to enter her, and she moaned, arching her hips. That chuckle again took her by surprise.

 _'I'm in deep,'_ she thought, letting it float by as quickly as it entered her mind.

"I need more."

"Greedy little thing. I like that."

Ghostly kisses fanned down her cheek, over her temple, lighter-than-air touches pushing strands of her wet curls behind one ear. The press of a man's thick cock nudged against her cunt, and she cried out, trembling, her arousal ratcheting up seven million degrees.

"Yes, fuck me!" she begged, afraid that if she moved even one odd muscle out of place, she would lose her oncoming orgasm.

"I will, maiden. And then you will be mine."

"I'm already yours!"

"I know. Now you will know, also."

With a jerk, her body flattened against the heated surface below her, water displaced over the sides with a noisy _'sploosh!_

The sensations started to fade when the commotion distracted her.

 _'Focus, Hermione!'_ she admonished, turning her attention back to the slide and retreat of that glorious dick inside of her. Good Godric, had her fingers ever felt that good, or reached that deep on their own?

Her body jerked vigorously, an invisible force stuffing her full of itself, grunting next to her ear, straining into her as the voice worked toward's its own release.

"I'm nearly there," she warbled out, "just a little more."

"Come for me, little one. Come on your God's cock."

An extra turbulent, profound thrust sent her cascading into a fit of ecstasy, her horny cunt clamping down around the phantom dick. Pussy strangled the cock as she came so hard the edges of her vision fuzzed-out momentarily.

Even as she came down from her high, the thrusting continued, speeding up, water slopping over the sides of the tub as the breathing next to her ear grew more substantial.

"Please!" she begged aloud, arching against the God's tight body.

That hearty chuckle obliged, and another orgasm trailed right on the end of the last one, sending her speeding to the heavens in a rocketship of electric light.

A mighty crash shook her house, lightning illuminating the bathroom in brilliant white. She came again, grasping at the muscled back of a God who was jerking his hips against her pelvis, spending his issue in copious, thick ropes deep within her.

Everything felt a little bit too real. Hermione pinched the very-much-there skin of a person resting on top of her. Realizing there was a strange, corporeal body in the bath with her, Hermione screamed and ducked her head underwater like an idiot. 

She held her breath until she couldn't anymore. Coming up gasping, wiping the water from her eyes and summoning her wand, she readied herself to Avada the creep that had taken advantage of her.

All that greeted her was sunlight streaming through the window, and over half the bathwater spilled to the floor around her. There was no thunder, no lightning, and no rain outside. Simply the song of birds flitting in the trees outside her window.

"What the bloody hell?" she gasped. "I must be barmy. What the fuck is in these bath bombs?"

Looking at the package, she reached over and grabbed the rest of the box, chucking it across the room and making a lucky basket in the bin, mentally cheering her excellent aim. "No more gifts from Fred and George. That was nuts."

She got out and dried herself, feeling very relaxed despite the strange encounter, full of light. It took no time at all to tidy up the bathroom, slip into a warm pair of pajamas, and settle in front of the fire with her previously discarded book and her slumbering cat.

For long hours she sat, snoozing as the fire died down and it got dark outside. Yawning and rising, bladder screaming, Hermione hoofed it to the loo to relieve herself. She sat down and peed, sighing in relief, then frowned when she felt something else between her legs.

Carefully wiping, she probed around, feeling the telltale slipperiness of arousal. "For land's sake," she muttered. 

No matter how much she cleaned herself, it didn't stop exuding from her cunt, so she grabbed a hand mirror, angled her twat to look at herself and gasped. Pearly white come oozed from her pussy, a creampie of epic – or godly – proportions, and her heart leaped into her throat.

 _"Oh god, oh god, oh god,"_ she chanted, putting her leg down, shaking, feeling it dribble down the inside of her thigh. In a rush, she hurried through the house, making sure her windows and doors were shut and locked. The home was warded to the nines, and the next moment found Hermione curling in on herself on her sofa, wondering if she was going mad.

\--

In New York, inside Stark Tower, Thor woke, bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring from his body. The God's cock heaved heavy ropes of come as the orgasm ripped through his body, eliciting a strike of power to leave him, ripping his pleasure with it, his power exhaling unintentionally through the roof. An image of a curly-haired, curvaceous and beautiful woman flashed before his eyes. Winded like a racehorse, Thor's balls pulsed painfully, weakly spitting the last of his issue under the thin covers.

Perplexed, unable to remember the dream he'd been having as it slipped through his grasp, Thor pulled back the covers to clean himself, confused when there was no come to be found except for a few droplets left on his exhausted cock. Despite the lack of evidence, Thor couldn't remember the last time he'd spent in such a manner; possibly, as far back as his adolescence.

Thor sniffed the air, his olfactory senses assaulted by the glorious scent of pussy.

 _"What in the NINE?"_ he bellowed, rising from his bed and heading to his closet to don clothing.

Taking a sudden detour, he went to his bathroom to shower instead, gingerly picking up his feet when they met with soaked carpet at the entrance of the bathroom.

Flicking on the light, the confounded God stood there, his bath overflowing with bubbles and water, the faucet on full force, and the scent of sex following him everywhere he went.

Mumbling about insanity and working too many long days, he went to turn off the tap, relieved when the flow of water stopped. What a fucking mess.

He left to go get some help and startled when he caught the image of the curly-haired woman in his bathroom mirror, her head down, lips moving but unable to hear her words.

"My Lady?" he asked, incredulous, moving towards the image.

The woman, on the other side, jerked up her head at the sound of his voice. She screamed, his mirror shattering into thousands of pieces as he stumbled back, landing on his ass, mind desperately casting about for an explanation, and finding none.


End file.
